
Class. /^6^ a'i'y^/ 

Book_ 'XMA± 



Copyright ]^^_ 



UJA 



COPYRIGHT BEPOSJT: 



ADVENTURERS 



ADVENTURERS 

By 
FANNY HODGES NEWMAN 



EXECUTE.D BY 

DEN RICH 

CMULA VISTA 



^ 



Copyright, Nineteen Ten, by 
Fanny Hodges Newman 






C CI. A 278876 



INVOCATION 



Friends all and dear, that were and are, 
uphold me with your sweet support, ivhile 
now, with courage long deferred, I mount the 
altar steps and make my insufficient offering 
to Love. 



ADVENTURERS 



Up the steep hills of Happiness 

Ye seek a freer path; 

The throng that keeps the trodden trail 

Spares you nor ridicide nor wrath. 

Then, if ye may, be merry; 

Then, if ye must, be sad: 

Your wounded feet mark out the road 

A world shall follow and be glad. 



THE CONTENTS 



Abelard to Heloise 


9 


To Paleolithic Man 


10 


Babylon 


12 


To Princess Raa— in her Mummy-Case 


14 


L' Antoinette 


15 


The Wedding Guest 


17 


Spring Song 


19 


Illusion 


20 


Night Ministrant 


21 


Unreconciled 


23 


Absence 


24 


A Confession 


25 


Preoccupation 


27 


Yesterday 


28 


Freedom 


29 


Anointed 


30 


Constancy 


31 


Recompense 


32 


Remembrance 


33 


Favors 


34 


Ingrate 


35 


Renunciation 


36 


Afterward 


37 



THE CONTENTS 


Continued 


A Phantasy of Burial 


38 


In Articulo Mortis 


40 


The Harvest 


41 


Death Calls for a Song 


42 


A Toast to Spring 


44 


The Wave 


46 


Little Fields o' Summer 


47 


The Water-Hyacinth 


49 


The Rose Once Plucked 


50 


Language 


51 


Perseverance 


52 


The Market 


53 


At Bedtime 


55 


Mortality 


56 


Nemesis 


57 


Discouragement 


58 


Loneliness 


59 


Heimweh 


60 


Late Romance 


61 


The Gospel of the Commonplace 


62 


The Task Appointed 


63 


In Exile 


64 


The Difficulty 


65 



THE CONTENTS Continued 

Cache 66 

It's a Good Thing to Laugh-ForF. A. B. 67 

Today 68 

In Body Pent 69 

Out of Bondage 70 

Joy 71 

Recovery 72 

In Praise of Beautiful Han ds- For £". AT. L. 73 

The Golden Anniversary— For E. & M. R. 74 

The Riders-For I.E.R. 75 



ABELARD TO HELOISE 



When Life is old and barren, Heloise, 

And Love sits silent, mourning days like these; 

When Earth confronts her moon, dead white 

to white, 
And paupered Nature, laggard Day and 

Night, 
Go dumbly grieving for what used to be; 
I will ask God (for deathless love of thee 
And for repentance of the body's sin), 
To let me, from the hell I suffer in. 
Return and make atoning pilgrimage. 
I will not fear the stillness, but engage, 
Searching the waste on penitential knees. 
Through Time's defacement, through 

Eternity's, 
To find this path where now, forbid, we meet. 
And lip the stones where once I kissed 

thy feet! 



TO PALEOLITHIC MAN 

(Restored in a museum) 



My Father! Lo, thy hundred thousand years 
Are but as yesterday when it is past. 
Today thy very voice is in mine ears; 
On mine own mirror is thy hkeness cast. 

Thy sap it is in these my veins runs green; 
Thine are these knitted thews of bone and 

skin; 
This cushioned width lay once thy ribs 

between, 
As my heart did with thine its work begin. 

Be it however contoured, this frail cup 
That holds the stuff and substance of my 

brain 
From thy prognathic skull was moulded up: 
Do I not share with thee the mark of Cain? 

And shall I shudder at the thickened neck, 
Full from thy shoulders to thy sloping head? 
It bore the brunt of many a rout and wreck 
That spared the slender loins whence I was 
bred. 

And do I blush, my Father, seeing how 
Thy furry jowl is kindred to my cheek? 
It shuts upon a tongue, I mind me now. 
Which stuttering spent itself that I might 
speak. 

10 



I and my brothers roam this rich Today- 
Unhindered, unafraid, because thy feet, 
Stone-bruised and heavy with primordial clay, 
God's winepress trod to make our vintage 
sweet 

What then. Progenitor? Shall we repay 
Such debt in any coin but filial love? 
Leave thy defenceless carcase on display 
With fossil horse and pterodactyl dove? 

For thee no epic and no monument! 

For lesser hero, meaner pioneer. 

Our honors; shall thy sons consent 

To leave thee standing naked, nameless, here? 



11- 



BABYLON 



Where now is barren silence, hoary calm, 
Once echoed from proud arch and propylon 
The voice of Life in serenade and psalm; 
The air was vibrant with the spoken word. 
Where now he sings thy requiem, this brave 

bird 
Once sang thy glory fadeless, Babylon! 

Thy merchants chaffered as they bought and 

sold 
Treasure of caravan and galleon; 
All we adventure they essayed for gold, 
For heart's desire, for fame, for victory; 
And bravely wrought thy troops on land and 

sea. 
Triumphed or died,— it was for Babylon. 

God of the earth, we are no more than they! 
They rose up eager with the morn begun, 
And weary laid them down at close of day; 
Spread tables with the varied bread of toil; 
They threshed and vinted harvests from the 

soil; 
Built storehouses and barns, in Babylon; 



Built palaces; built temples on the hill, 
Where women hardly their salvation won. 
Submitting to the god's promiscuous will. 



12 



We call their blazoned virtue infamy; 
The incense from our altars, it may be, 
Shall rise no nearer heaven, Babylon! 



Where outcast hyssop trails her slattern foot, 
Waste hostelry whose board the wild bees 

shun, 
Where never wandering rose will pause and 

root, 
A queen once walked, and found her garden 

fair. 
And smiled upon her king in suppliance there; 
Just as we love, they loved in Babylon. 



Present, hang thy harps upon the trees. 

The willow trees that girt Oblivion. 

There wail Time's captives still upon their 

knees. 
Still importuning skies of brass, as then 
They knelt and agonized,— forgotten men. 
Who passed, nor dreamed of thee,— 

in Babylon. 



13 



TO PRINCESS RAA -' r- ...•-: 

IN HER MUMMY -CASE 



Forlorn survival of what once has been 

A young, fair woman! they are dead like thee 

Who served thee thus, to keep thy memory 

green: 
Have mortals naught, then, but mortality? 

So much our hands would do, can they no more 
Than lie thus idle on the emptied breast? 
Our eager feet, for them is naught in store 
But this straight quietude that is not rest? 

I see my darling's eyes, how deep they shine, 
Two wells of heaven; yet this selfsame sky 
May once have paled above the blue of thine: 
Shall night forever on our eyelids lie? 

Egyptian, speak! Thy dessicated lip, 
Between what kisses slipt its passing breath? 
And did thy soul, with love for staif and 

scrip. 
Emerge immortal from this husk of death? 



14 



L'ANTOINETTE 



In the vaults of the Conciergerie 

It echoes still: What ho, Marie! 

Do you lueepfor the king or the dauphin child? 

''With jailers quartered, of them reviled, 

I taste of the bitter pain ye knew, 

Madonna Mother, and thou, Jesu !" 

Her head that was gallant red before 
Bowed down till the white hair curled to the 

floor. 
Frost on its foulness. Up, Marie! 
The croivn tvill fall from your Majesty. 

"Before I came to this drear mischance 
God's grace and glory fell from France," 
She turns to the casement, faint for air. 
Nor recks if the day be dark or fair. 
Would you ride, my lady? That you shall, 
Though your coach ivait long in the Rue Royale. 

"Messieurs, some thread to mend my dress, 
For shame of a queen in her nakedness." 
Paris kept you in gowns and hats. 
And drove the poor to their holes like rats. 

"Not one of them but had better state 
Than I since ye brought me in at this gate. 
I pray you a morsel of seemly food; 
I cannot stomach yon ration rude." 



15 



Since the palace table is bare, 'tis well 
Ye starve in the fashion of gaunt Michel. 

"HI must stop at this loathly inn 
Long, on my way to the guillotine, 
An your heart beat ever in human kind, 
Hang me a curtain to pray behind." 

Today all Paris shall see you kneel 
Where the fiat of heaven descends in steel. 
"Now farewell, Paris; France, farewell; 
God bring you as quickly out of hell!" 

Then forth she fared in her widowhood, 
Sport of women one half as good. 
Marie has back her tresses red, 
They laughed, and lifted her sodden head. 

L'ENVOI 

Marie Jeanne Josephe Antoinette, 

The lustful city it Hngers yet. 

An empire lost and none to get. 

Today mayhap you had kept your crown, 

Malgre pride and an ill renown. 

Glitter of gems and a purfled gown, 

A wasteful board and an empty purse; 

For men are better though life be worse. 

And still in the Conciergerie 

The Voices wait: What ho, Marie! 



16 



THE WEDDING GUEST 



"When Jesus came as a wedding guest 
To Gana in Galilee, 

Mother, I think he danced with the best, 
And kissed the bride, may be." 

Forfend He hear thee, impious one. 
And thou so soon to wed! 
Wouldst bring His scourging wrath upon 
Thy housing and thy bed? 

"Mother, I think His eyes were brown. 

And His hair most pleasing red. 

And He blushed, mayhap, with lids drooped 

down. 
At the words the rabbi said. 

' 'Nay, chide me not, sweet Mother mine, 
I would it were my feast. 
Where the Christ poured out immortal wine 
For the guests, and himself not least." 

Fie on thee!— "Would those revelers ask 
Of one austere and still. 
That He work a spell on the emptied cask, 
His cup and theirs to fill? 

"They called Him glutton. Mother dear, 
And bibber, the Pharisees, 
Because he lifted the cup of cheer. 
And drank it down to the lees. 



17 



"And since for love and the best of life 
He came to dwell with men, 
I am sure He smiled at His kinsman's wife, 
And wished her children ten. 

"And she lived, I know, to be passing glad. 
When she mused on her marriage day. 
That the world's dear Christ was the 

handsome lad 
Who made her wedding gay. 

"And Mary was proud as Dame Isobel 
Will be of the son she bred. 
When he stands with me in the 

Sainte Chapelle, 
And our holy vows are said. 

"0 mother, a lad's a lad, and the best 
That ever the world shall see 
Was a merry youth and a welcome guest 
At Cana of Galilee, 

"And tomorrow I shall pray with tears— 
The only tears I shed, — 
That if still on earth the Lord appears, 
He will come to see me wed." 



18 



SPRING SONG 



Oh, heard you the delicious din 
Of Nature at her lying-in? 
The sap seeps up the breasted hill, 
The suckling rootlets drink their fill, 
The mating lark proclaims his choice. 
For you all this, for me Her voice. 

Oh, have you seen the fairest thing 
That ever came with youth and spring? 
The young leaves of the camphor tree, 
The moon-veil on the evening sea. 
White lily cups, green willow lace, — 
What should I see except Her face? 

Oh, found you where Sir Rainbow put 
The pot of gold beneath his foot? 
Take Midas' gift and Midas' lust, 
And turn earth's sod to aureate crust, 
I will not ask for any part; 
Tell what thou hast, my heart! 



19 



ILLUSION 



Sometimes I see the blue alluring shade 
The nested palm once in our garden made; 
The filtered moon beneath the pepper bough. 

The oriole stirs and faintly calls thee, Dear; 
Love's swift mirage persuades that thou art 

here, 
Then fades and leaves me by thy grave as 

now. 



20 



NIGHT MINISTRANT 



Blessed be night and sleep and dream, 
That they atone 

For pains that are by joys that seem! 
Say you not so, my Own? 

Dear Spirit, through Night's moil and rout 
You hear my plea; 

Though walls and guards be round about, 
You come to me. 

Soon as, enchanted of kind Sleep, 
Mine eyelids fall. 
Mine ears their avid vigils keep 
To hear you call. 

I cannot feel your shoulder lift 

In rhythmic heave; 

Your breath's slow fragrance does not drift 

Upon my sleeve. 

I cannot lay my hand upon 

Your buoyant flesh. 

Nor glimpse what gold stays from the sun 

In your hair's mesh. 

Only your thoughts my thoughts caress; 

Only your voice 

Across my dreams is happiness; 

Yet I rejoice 



21 



That on that swift aerial track, 
Our hearts between, 
Imagined bliss plies forth and back, 
The dark a screen. 

joy that cannot be estopped 

By bolt or bar. 

Like manna from high heaven dropped 

Your visits are; 

And starved, as once God's desert brood 
For that sweet stuff, 
Like them I find Love's magic food 
Each night enough. 



22 



UNRECONCILED 



I weep, and call upon you still, for still I miss, 
As those who lie awake and pray for dawn. 
The sweet perpetual comfort of your kiss. 
How can the world and I be here, and you 
be gone? 



23 



ABSENCE 



When the night falls, and to my waiting eyes 
There comes no benison of starlit skies; 
When at high noon I miss the yellow heat, 
Which quivers in the garden where we meet; 
When the morn's dawn is dry of that sweet 

dew 
The rose distils but when I walk with you;— 
Then are you absent, then 'tis you I lack. 
Dear, if you heard me call, would you come 

back? 



24 



A CONFESSION 



I was glad for the story told truly, 

Not sparing my tears, 

For now I can cherish you duly. 

Aware of the years; 

Can love you with passionate choosing. 

In spite of the one 

Whose shadow, that day of refusing, 

Extinguished your sun; 

In spite of, because of, the anguish 

That tore you and flayed, 

And proved not a poltroon to languish 

But man you were made. 

Because of the cup of your drinking, 

Bitter is mine, 

And yet I exult that no shrinking 

Cost me the wine. 

Recalling how madly you missed her, 

(Can it be said?) 

How vainly you prayed her and kissed her, 

Lying there dead. 

Do you not ask how I bear it. 

You who forget. 

And bade me forget, bade me swear it, 

Your ancient regret? 

Love, only mine for the winning. 



25 



Though, out there at sea 

Unstarred and uncharted, beginning 

Your journey to me, — 

Course set where you thought I was spoken, — 

You struck upon Grief, 

And came back from shipwreck heartbroken, 

Past any belief; 

You found me, I you. I was waiting 

And pacing the sands. 

And I drew you (Oh, that was a mating!) 

Here with my hands. 

To my home on the rocks, to my cottage, 

Comforted you. 

Stayed you with excellent pottage. 

My heart in the brew. 

Reviving, you told me the story, 

Nor spared me a tear. 

And since and forever my glory 

Is loving you, Dear! 



26 



PREOCCUPATION 



I bore my burden in the sun today, 
And was it light or heavy could not say; 
Felt not the driver's lash curl in my face: 
My heart was singing in another place! 



27 



YESTERDAY 



Last night I mounted by thy turret stair, 
And called thee softly in the wonted way, 
And took the wonted kiss, all unaware 
How vainly I should climb and call today. 



FREEDOM 



When you like more the open sun, 

The wind's path to the sea, 

The road the wanton roses run. 

Than this dull room and me, — 

More than you love these cloistered hours 

Beside my bed of pain, — 

I will not hold you: on these flowers 

I swear you free again. 



29 



ANOINTED 



Because I touched your hair, the scent of you 
Exhales triumphant from my finger-tips; 
Because you kissed me, I shall rise and go 
My journey's length with love upon my lips. 



CONSTANCY 



Some day the hand which holds the ocean up 
Shall spill it forth from earth's inverted cup; 
faithful, in a fickle world of men, 
Shall love maintain me in thy heart till then? 



31 



RECOMPENSE 



Then wilt thou sleep upon my breast, 
And thy repose shall be my rest, 
And for Fate's uttermost offense 
Thy joy shall be my recompense. 



32 



REMEMBRANCE 



Are there not enough faces, white and brown, 
Gray and gay, in the world, in the town? 
Why should my soul importunate speak 
For only one rose-red vanished cheek? 

So many kind hands clasp my hands, 
So many beckon in so many lands; 
Why should I languish by dark and light 
For two that were mine for a day, for a night? 

Eyes a myriad face the sun; 
Is it good to remember the eyes of one?— 
For the gaze of men's desire demure, 
For me their passionate swift allure. 

Is the world, then, shorn of its glory of hair, 

Plaited, garlanded, dark and fair. 

That just to recall the lock astray 

On a brow I knew, wears my heart away? 

Where the pale sun rises, where red it dips, 
They tempt me, the many, with wine-sweet 

lips; 
Then why turn back and weep like this 
For dole of my saint's betrothal kiss? 

Strength and beauty go up and down 
Crying their wares in the world, in the town; 
But I will none of their proffered grace. 
Lest I cease to dream of a vanished face. 



33 



FAVORS 



My Lady kissed me! Since that bounteous 

hour 
My lips are fervid with the warmth of hers, 
As bees go honeyed from the jasmine flower, 
That spreads her sweets for favored 

wanderers. 



34 



INGRATE 



As one who, rich in gold but bhnd, 
Desires only sight, 
And, having all the world can give. 
Would render all for light; 

As, in the desert, one athirst 
Faints by the empty well. 
And all his laden caravan 
For one cool draught would sell, — 

So I, from whom Fate bountiful 
Withholds no gift but thee. 
Go thankless through the day, and rail 
Nightlong at Destiny. 



35 



RENUNCIATION 

If I could love you just enough 
For comfort. Dear, 
Without this tumult in my veins 
When you are near; 

If this mad heart did not repine, 
When you are far; 

If I could cease just dreaming dreams 
For Fate to mar; 

If I could take Life's measured alms 
In thankful part, — 
I would not say, Go, Love, before 
You break my heart. 



AFTERWARD 



She has not been here in the house that was 

hers 
For a desolate day and a night and a day, 
And my ears grow deaf and my vision blurs 
With life's blare and glare since she 

went away. 

I would not see and I will not hear 

But the voice I loved and the one loved face; 

Then how shall I live the livelong year 

And the years to come in this widowed place? 

Yonder is never the selfsame sun, 
Aloft in the garish blue today, 
That rose to gladden my blessed one 
When she slipped from her morning couch 
to pray; 

Nor the blatant clamor that fills the street 
Can be the music she used to hear 
When she called from the casement 

(Oh, she was sweet!), 
"How happy the world is. Dear!" 

But that was her world and it passed with her, 
And chaos followed her parting breath. 
Hush, friends, while God and I confer 
On this wanton deed of His servant Death. 



37 



A PHANTASY OF BURIAL 



The lark at dawn sings close above, 
The perfumed rose leans over, 
Where prone beneath my heavy grief 
I've wept the night, my Lover. 



Faintly the song and fragrance drift 
Upon my seeming slumber; 
The living touch my lips and say, 
She is not of our number. 

They lift me, ice from head to feet. 
And croon their tender pity: 
She has not slept since his young bier 
Was carried from the city. 

They bear me to thy tomb, and chant 
The songs for the departed. 
Blessed be Death, I hear them say, 
Who joins the loyal-hearted. 

Strange that I do not feel it strange, 
The body's cold quiescence; 
Stranger this tumult in a heart 
Drained of its mortal essence. 

I fear I am not rightly dead, 
'Tis so undreamed-of lonely; 



I thought by now to be with thee, 
'Twas that I died for only. 

The sun is rising on the world; 
His shadows cross this portal, 
Whereon is graved thy name and mine 
Beneath the word, Immortal. 

Soon shall this flesh that was thy joy 
Be dust for breezes vagrant. 
And vampire Life devour this clay, 
Yet of thy kisses fragrant. 

And still my soul survives, and waits 
That earthy dissolution. 
And somehow knows it need not fear 
Or loss or diminution. 



Impatient, impotent, my prayer 
Assails thee in thy glory: 
Bring me to heaven with thee or hell, 
Out of this purgatory. 



Wooer, Comrade, is it thou? 
(I rise, the world sinks under. ) 
Eternity is ours?— Death, 
Thy wisdom and thy wonder! 



IN ARTICULO MORTIS 

Hope stands detached, half smiling yet, 
Ambiguous to deceive me. 
Health hovers on reluctant wing, 
Dismayed that she must leave me. 

Life's cohorts on the crowded way 
Are battling on without me. 
And, dizzy with her dancing, Joy 
Laughs back a song to flout me. 

Only God's creature. Death, awaits 
The still sign to obey Him. 
Strike, minion! Love is here; not thou. 
Nor shall God's self, affray him. 



40 



THE HARVEST 



Little feet of my ivill-o' -the-wisp, of my 
child, that vanished as fireflies do, 

I follow you, bent to the burdened earth, 
my footsteps sodden and slow, 

And only the Angel that beckoned you hence 
knows surely the way that I go. 

Through tulip and daffodil gardens. Sweet, 
your springtime journey lay. 

But I have not rid me of murk and mire 
since you danced farewell and away, 

And over the unhealed sore in my heart 
breaks always the salt sea spray. 

The frock that I wove you was white, was 

white, as the lilies I dare not touch. 
And I know, and the whole world knows it 

well, there's a Kingdom of Heaven 

for such; 
Will the fact that I fashioned so fair a thing 

atone for my garment's smutch? 

Oh, little winged feet that went your way 

in the dawn-time long ago, 
I follow, in spite of the mire and mist 

of the only road I know; 
For I hold that somewhere mothers all 

shall gather the seed they sow. 



41 



DEATH CALLS FOR A SONG 



A song, ye men of tears! Raise me an hymn, 
And wreathe me bay and myrtle for my head; 
Render me paeans for these dirges grim: 
Where I take one I leave you ten, (he said) . 

Mary and Martha, grant me Lazarus 
For all the brothers that I daily spare. 
And ye that cry, ' 'Good Lord, deliver us 
From sudden death," devise a better prayer. 

Be just: your reckless feet run after me; 
Ye tempt me mightily by dark and day; 
Ye fashion your own swords and weaponry; 
Your rash red hands have tutored mine to 
slay. 

How many lisping sweetings might I take, 
Warm from the mother in the father's bed, 
And do not so, but let them smile and wake! 
For one I take I leave you ten, (he said) . 

An hundred lovers in unhindered arms 
A lifetime keep the burden of their joy, 
For one deprived, who weeps love's ruddy 

charms 
Grown lean and palHd with the dread alloy. 

God, when He heard the first man-song of 
praise, 

42 



Bethought Him of yet one more gift, —a friend 
To watch and follow until length of days 
Were weariness: then should I bring the end. 

Then should I turn the halting steps aside 
Out of the tumult where the living pass, 
The child, the youth, the bridegroom and 

the bride; 
Lay soft the couch with poppy leaves. Alas, 

Not for the old would I be comforted; 
Fain would I gather only what is mine: 
Yours the untimely sacrificial dead, 
Yours the young paths that to the grave 
incline. 

Acquit me, bless me, choir me an hymn, 
And weave the olive garland for my head; 
Ye men of tears, forbear your dirges grim: 
For one I take I leave you ten, (he said). 



A TOAST TO SPRING 



Come, carouse with the May, tread a measure 

and sing! 
The year is full long from the spring to the 

spring, 
And may be 'tis the last gentle Fortune shall 

bring, — 

Here's to Spring! 



The season of frost-bloom and snow-flower 

is gone; 
Now mating and nesting begin with the dawn; 
The yeoman's a lover and boasts of his 

brawn, — 

Here's to Spring! 



And She in her garden and You in your field, 
With that in your two hearts must soon be 

revealed, 
Are glad with the young hope of love's 

maiden yield,— 

Here's to Spring! 



And though the lone hollow behind the green 

hill 
Is empty of birds and of laughter is still: 
By the spring may we know the dead rise 

if God will,— 

Here's to Spring! 



44 



Then riot and revel, come trip it and sing! 
Full long is the year from the spring to the 

spring, 
And what if this last be the last Time shall 

bring, — 

Here's to Spring! 



45 



THE WAVE 



The Wind my master is, I am his slave. 
Is he aweary of his zephyring, 
He leaves the garden or the green low grave, 
Where late he sighed or pleasured wantoning, 
And straightway hurls him to the midmost sea 
And lays about him with his nine-tailed whip. 
Bidding me rise (the while he scourges me) 
And from my bosom dash the helpless ship; 
Litter the good deep sea, the bountiful, 
With flotsam of her broken masts and men; 
Rouse up the shark, summon the screaming 

gull, 
To come and glean behind the hurricane. 
His lash is on my shoulder, I must leap. 
Servile, before him, knowing where I pass 
That isles and sunny shoals are smothered 

deep. 
And lifted hands of those that drown. Alas, 
So is it, till the mad wind cries: No more! 
Then penitent I turn and creep away, 
Spread my spent fingers on some sunlit shore. 
And smooth the sands where little children 

play. 



46 



LITTLE FIELDS 0^ SUMMER 

little fields o' summer, Summer's gone! 
The wind came by, 'twas yesterday, post haste, 
And found her with her kirtle strings undone. 
And whipped her tattered smock about her 
waist, 

And bit her cheek for being overbold. 
And bid her seek another trysting place. 
Since all the year turned from her and was 

cold; 
But still she went with smiles upon her face. 

fields betrayed, and had you never heard 
What light-o'-love she was that hither came 
And tricked you with her magic? Every bird 
And bloom she was so false to knows her 
name. 



When once they trusted her and gave their 

best. 
She took and used them for her dalliance. 
Then strewed the flowers and emptied out the 

nest. 
Laughing that Love had lost his puissance. 

little fields, I grieve that there you lie. 
Uncovered and unkissed, where swoops the 
blast 



47 



And taunts you with his tidings: "Summer's 

by, 
That vowed betimes and left you lorn at last. " 

And I that love each wimpling weed of you. 
Because of one that strayed from moon till 

dawn 
Along your paths, I weep my mistress too. 
little fields o' summer, Summer's gone! 



48 



THE WATER-HYACINTH 

Haply, as on this shadowed pool 
Thy lovely purple flower appears, 
Some fertile seed of wandering joy 
May root and thrive upon my tears. 



49 



THE ROSE ONCE PLUCKED 



Unfruited Rose, what aim and effort spent 
By what artificer brought thee to birth, 
Wrought thy fine fabric from the sober earth? 
What Breath exhales in thy too transient 

scent? 
When I behold thy fate inconsequent. 
Not my delight in wearing thee is worth 
This sorrow for Life's lamentable dearth, 
Since thou must drop such petals in my tent. 

Tomorrow with the moving caravan 
I pass; shed thou upon the sand thy bloom, 
And gather back thy sweets into the sod. 
There thou shalt find thy peer and partner, 

Man, 
And mingle tissues in the common tomb. 
Rose, therein is any stir of God? 



50 



LANGUAGE 



There was no path to his place in the air, 
The oriole swinging and singing his prayer 
To his distant lady to meet him there, 
But this I heard him say, I swear: 

''Come three flights south and tivo flights west; 
I have found the palm that will suit thee best." 
How else had she found them, —love and 
a nest? 



51 



PERSEVERANCE 

Finishes one little nest, the wren, 
One little song, the robin, —then 
Both begin again. 



52 



THE MARKET 



What shall I do with my beautiful life? 
(Youth in the market, Hope in the stall) 
What is your barter, —this is my all; 
What shall I get in return for my life? 

"Here's thirst for adventure, here's lust of 

the strife; 
Here's sword of the Saracen, hammer of Thor; 
Here's spoil of far waters, red guerdon 

of war: 
The half of your days for the Spirit of Strife!" 

Art offers her pigments, her cymbals, her 

knife: 
"Come, make you a marble, a canvas, a song: 
Immortal the years that to Beauty belong: 
Your best for a lyre, a pencil, a knife!" 

"This way to the workshop where problems 

are rife! 
A bargain, the compass, the guage and 

the glass! 
Give your name to a star; christen atom 

and gas. 
To the workshop with Science where 

questions are rife!" 



Love's frail adolescence tempts: "Buy me 
to wife!" 

53 



Beware of the coy, disingenuous jade. 
Freedom, fealty, faith, a usurious trade, 
Will you take it, and bind unfledged Passion 
to wife? 

Folk of Vanity Fair ivith fiddle and fife. 
Parading your baubles and crying your toys. 
Display me your goodies, uncover your joys, 
And ivhile I am choosing, hush fiddle and fife. 

What shall I do ivith my beautiful life? 
( Youth in the market, Hope in the stall) 
What is your barter? This is my all. 
What shall I get in return for my life? 



54 



AT BED-TIME 



''Now I lay me down to sleep,'' — 
Oh sweet audacity, 
To take for confidence in God 
This faith in Mother's knee! 

'7 pray the Lord my soul to keep, " — 
They say that in God's Heaven 
White angels veil their eyes; our babes 
Look up and smile, unshriven. 

'* I pray the Lord my soul to take,'' — 
Now hush! for life is good. 
* 'If I should die before I wake, ' ' — 
Baby, if you should! 



55 



MORTALITY 



Aeons rolled on. Earth's restless morning 

dawned. 
By world commotions undisturbed I slept. 
Lacking the bitter sweet of consciousness, 
I nothing lacked, desired not nor wept. 

But now, by need of Law or Love, I am. 
Witless I reap and sow Life's grain, and 

then-? 
Prophets and Seers, what then? years to 

come. 
Come softly that ye wake me not again! 



56 



NEMESIS 



" Some day!" We gaze across our dreams 

and say;— 
The lover, murmuring in his amorous sleep; 
The sailor, shouting to defy the deep; 
The mother, crooning to the quickening child. 
So is our helplessness with hope beguiled. 
I heard one mocking softly: "Aie, some day!" 



57 



DISCOURAGEMENT 



How is become life's rising tide a bog; 
A desolate waste, this erstwhile beau-rivage; 
The future, yonder dreary, drifting fog; 
The past, a tempest and the now, mirage! 



58 



LONELINESS 



I could not guess, where life so elbows life, 
There could such anguish of aloofness be; 
Nor in the midst of noise, —bird-song and hum 
Of whirring hours and happy whisperings, — 
Such curtained silences encompass me; 
Nor anywhere thou shinest, sweet Sun, 
Such bitter tides of darkness round me run. 



HEIMWEH 



Oh, I followed the lure of loving, 
Through open fields and town. 
And it left me sighing, sighing, 
For I never found my own. 

Oh, I whirled me after pleasure. 
The moth with death's-head wings. 
But she kept on flying, flying. 
Till now remembrance stings. 

And I hurled me after profit. 

So fast I never turned 

Where the poor were crying, crying. 

For the bread I had not earned. 

Oh, I followed the lust of roving 
To the seven far hills of Rome, 
And here I am dying, dying. 
With my heart turned vainly home. 



60 



LATE ROMANCE 



Above the scattered rubbish of the street, 
The dust aswirl round Labor's shuffling feet, 
A brown-winged butterfly in graceful poise! 
I raised my tired eyes and marked him there, 
And, turning from the traffic and the noise, 
I set a red rose in my whitening hair. 



61 



THE GOSPEL OF THE COMMONPLACE 



Though dearest star 

Be farthest, far, 

And fairest flower 

But stay an hour, — 

The near and worthy Commonplace 

Prefers its claim and sues for grace. 

Then fix your hope 

Half way the slope. 

Since you must stop 

This side the top, 

And learn to be apostle, Dear, 

Of the Everyday and Here. 



62 



THE TASK APPOINTED 



Said Doubt: "It cometh night: 
My little sands are run; 
Living, why have I lived? 
Doing, what have I done?" 
Said Faith: "Or what the earth 
That turns about the sun?" 



IN EXILE 



They lie somewhere 'twixt west and east, 
The fields of Far-away, 
Where once we made Love's harvest feast 
In moons of Yesterday; 

Beside the paths that turn and wind 
Among the hills of Youth; 
And there, alas, are left behind 
The maiden wells of Truth. 

And there are Memory and Hope 
And, God be thanked, Regret; 
And on beyond the farthest slope 
The sin we must forget. 

There is the Joy that would not stay 
And Love that is forby. 
And on dear graves in Grief's array 
The tangled grass is dry. 

No doubt the fertile fields we plow 
Outyield the ancient loam. 
But Oh, to walk those furrows now. 
For nowhere else is Home! 



64 



THE DIFFICULTY 



"It is certainly hard", the philosopher said, 
"In this riddle of worlds to be wise and sweet. 
With Death a-gardening underfeet 
And stars and butterflies overhead." 



65 



CACHfi 



My life a secret is; its dear concerns 

Are not those catalogned activities 

That mark the hours, as day to evening turns, 

And spell them out for whomso hears and 



You do not know me, although here I stand 
And answer to your questions, yea and nay. 
Delve in mine eyes, explore my charted hand, 
You shall not find what I have hid away. 

I do my task, and well befall the work! 
I give what to your exigence belongs. 
Go read my record, — Custom keeps a clerk, — 
But 'tis not writ where I have hid my song. 



IT'S A GOOD THING TO LAUGH" 



Oh, life is a winding weary lane 
Where travelers go in toil and pain, 
With many a bitter cup to quaff: 
It's a good thing to laugh. 

The gleaners come from the ruddy field. 
Their shoulders bent with the harvest yield, 
And some is wheat but it's mostly chaff! 
It's a good thing to laugh. 

The heart cries out upon the day; 
The body breaks on the rugged way; 
Joy, give these sorrow-scourged a staff! 
It's a good thing to laugh. 

Midway is waiting the desolate pool 
Wherein falls many a hopeless fool. 
Quick, Joy, and fish them out with your gaff! 
It's a good thing to laugh. 

At the end is the grave-green resting place. 
May Death look once on my sleeping face. 
Then, smiling, write me my epitaph: 
'Twas a good thing to laugh. 



67 



TO-DAY 

Rose in the west, and violet, 
And in the east a flame; 
To most, just one more morning, 
To one the Judgment came. 



IN BODY PENT 



When I this vast outspread Creation scan, 
Mine is each patterned beauty that I see, 
Only because I look through eyes that be 
Two windows of this mortal house of man. 

The sea sings up its surge; the tuneful sky 
Drops down its melody in little songs. 
And all earth's music to myself belongs 
Because my body listens and is I. 

The kiss that lies so softly on my cheek 
Fell there because some tangible, sweet sign 
Must needs assure me that mine own is mine. 
Flesh of my flesh, so love itself must speak. 

But if dear Death should free from sense, 

then what? 
High resurrection in some likely sphere, 
Beyond the bondage and the bounds of here. 
Where life unfettered still is Life? Why not? 



OUT OF BONDAGE 



I stand on the outermost brink, 
As far as the path may be trod, 
Where mortal brain must cease to think 
And the heart cries out for God. 

His temple gateway is here 

Where I see but the void abyss; 

But I know I am His and I need not fear, 

And I tell my Maker this: 

I am not afraid to be Man; 
To be atom where Thou art Whole; 
To take my place in the august plan 
That circles Thee and my soul. 



70 



JOY 



Atalanta, on what leaden feet 
Drags after thee the amorous world! 

Still cools 
The path between, except where, strong 

and fleet, — 
Wings on their ankles, —go our poet-fools. 



71 



RECOVERY 



Death has delayed his capture; 
Sickness has loosed her thong; 
Out of the pain a rapture; 
Out of the dark a song! 



72 



IN PRAISE OF BEAUTIFUL HANDS 



Lady, I saw your lovesome hands 
Loose-clasped and gloveless lie 
Upon the book at worship time, 
Nor could cajole mine eye 
To turn from instant homage there 
And close in wonted Sabbath prayer. 

And if I failed in churchly rede 

Or paused in pious rote, 

Watching your fingers shine against 

The blue of your surcoat, 

He shrived me at the chancel rails 

Who gave you rosy pearls for nails. 

Who turned each digit's slender length 
And curved so soft a palm, 
Condoned my making of this rhyme 
In time of prayer and psalm. 



Lady, at church I saw your hands, 
Since when I own my heart in bands. 



73 



THE GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY 



One more half-century's infrequent sun 
Finds Hymen's chains not yet by Time undone, 
And with his tender alchemy, behold. 
He turns the thin tenacious strands to gold! 

That other sun which fifty summers gone 
Answered Love's summons with propitious 

dawn, 
As kindly shone on orange wreath and rose 
That hedged these lovers in one garden-close. 

Since then, what sowing and what yield have 

been! 
What storms without! what blighted buds 

within! 
Grief pruned their vines and sorrow watered 

them. 
Yet what a flowering crowns each ripening 

stem! 

Loyal the hearts that hoped, the hands that 

wrought; 
Their portion how more bounteous than 

their thought. 
Now from the windows of this gentle room, 
Content, they watch their life-long garden 

bloom. 



74 



THE RIDERS 



These drag the bridle, dullards, lifting up 
Eyelids opaque to the illumined skies; 
Turning deaf ears to earth's fine 

minstrelsies; 
Their lips unquickened from Love's wassail 

cup. 
They ride unnerved, with Terror at the crup. 
Let pass; here come Faith's brave allies, 
Defying ambush, fearless of surprise, 
At Life's most frugal inns they gladly sup. 
Nathless their bodies, soft beneath the mail, 
Could feel the prick of sword, the scathe 

of fire; 
Partake with appetite Joy's trencher-cheer; 
Pay tribute sweet to beauty and desire. 
Yet shall they never be unhorsed by Fear: 
It is God's secret, why they may not fail! 



75 



There is no road to happiness, 
The road is 



ADVEnruKE^a 




